


Thanksgiving

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, mildy dubcon cause Bucky's drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For five nights running Bucky had called Steve over to his bed, but other than saying Steve’s name, he never talked much. As long as the lights were on, things were like they’d always been. If anything, Bucky was a little less affectionate during the day—he didn’t throw his arm over Steve’s shoulder as they walked or bump their knees together under the dinner table.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> No beta on this one, because I ran out of time before Thanksgiving!

It was late October, and the evening was nice and cool. The doctors always told Steve that autumn meant wet leaves and mildew, even in the city, but in spite of his allergies acting up, the change of seasons came as a relief. After the oppressive summer, when the heat radiated off the pavement wherever you walked, the crisp evenings made something in Steve relax, even if he was shivering a little in his thin jacket.

Bucky was in a good mood too, joking around as they strolled along the sidewalk. It made Steve wish they could keep on walking all evening, just the two of them, rather than picking up their dates. But Bucky had arranged everything, and Steve had gone along with the plan after only a token protest.

When they got to the boarding house where the girls lived, Bucky gave Steve a grin as he knocked. Steve knew that once the door opened, Bucky’s attention would be fixed on his date—as it should be, but it had been a long time since he’d had a night out with Bucky when he wasn’t distracted by a dame.

A pretty girl answered the door. She was all curves, and her blonde hair was styled in perfect waves. Her face lit up when she saw Bucky, who smiled back at her just as brightly. Steve looked away.

“Hello, Bucky.”

“Hiya, Dorothy. You look beautiful.”

She giggled.

“This is Steve,” Bucky continued. “Steve, this is Dorothy.”

Steve turned back in time to catch Dorothy’s appraising look, and to his surprise, she nodded at him with approval in her eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve. Mary Ann will be ready in just a minute.”

“There’s no rush,” Bucky said.

He stepped closer to Dorothy and put his hand on the small of her back. She smiled up at him, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how nice they looked together like that: her blonde curls and his dark hair, her soft curves and his broad shoulders.

Footsteps in the entryway made them all turn toward the door.

“Here she comes,” Dorothy said cheerfully. “Mary Ann, come meet Steve.”

Mary Ann emerged, her eyes cast down. She was short, barely five foot tall and slim as can be. Steve didn’t think she was very pretty: her lank hair was mousy brown, and when she looked up and gave Steve a shy smile, he could see that her mouth was full of crooked teeth. But Steve had had too many dates stare at him with obvious disappointment, so he looked her right in the eye and forced a smile.

“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” Bucky took Dorothy’s hand and gently tugged her toward the stairs. “I’m starving.”

Steve fell into step with Mary Ann behind Dorothy and Bucky. He tore his eyes away from where Bucky’s arm was wrapped firmly around Dorothy’s waist and glanced at Mary Ann, feeling surprised all over again at how small she was. For once he didn’t feel like a shrimp.

They took the girls to dinner—nothing fancy, just a diner, but the food was good. Steve cleaned his plate, but Mary Ann picked at her food. Maybe she was nervous. The idea made Steve feel strangely brave, so he cleared his throat and asked her if she grew up in New York. She looked a little startled, but recovered quickly and spoke in a rush.

“No, I haven’t lived in New York long. I’m from Ohio, outside Columbus. I’m going for a visit soon. My parents are still there, and all my brothers and sisters.” Talking about her family made her smile in a way that made her almost pretty. “I’ve been saving for months for a train ticket so I can go home for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s really great.” He tried to think of something else to say.

“Where are you from?” Mary Ann asked.

“Right here in Brooklyn.”

“So you get to see your family a lot?”

“Well, I don’t have any family left.”

“I’m so sorry.” She seemed embarrassed to have brought up the subject.

“It’s okay. I’ve got Bucky. He’s like a brother to me.” That wasn’t strictly true—Steve’s feelings for Bucky weren’t really all that brotherly, but he couldn’t explain that to Mary Ann.

Bucky must have heard his name. He left off his conversation with Dorothy to lean over the table and grin at Steve. “Mary Ann likes to take art classes.”

He didn’t even try to be subtle about it, just blurted it out, like he’d been saving up this bit of information as a secret weapon. Did Bucky really think that just because Mary Ann was short and skinny and liked art, she had to be a perfect match for Steve? But he smiled at her and asked polite questions about her classes, and no one seem to notice his annoyance.

Mary Ann tucked her hand into Steve’s arm as they left the restaurant. It was nice to have her so eager—Steve could admit that to himself, but it was an alien feeling. He was used to being ignored by the girls that Bucky fixed him up with. Steve told himself he was being stupid, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of walking along with a girl on his arm who didn’t tower over him. This must be what guys usually felt like with a girl. Mary Ann was sweet, and she didn’t make Steve stutter and blush. He could actually have a real conversation with her.

Shouldn’t he at least give it a chance? Maybe he could make a go of it, keep taking her out like a normal guy. He could marry her, and they could have a pack of scrawny kids with crooked teeth. It was mean to think about Mary Ann like that, focusing on her flaws, and to even imagine treating her like an experiment he knew would fail.

Steve’s eyes were drawn to the line of Bucky’s neck as he turned and bent his head to murmur in Dorothy’s ear. Just then, as if he felt Steve’s eyes on him, Bucky looked over his shoulder and grinned.

There—that smile. That was why Steve could never settle down with a girl, why he couldn’t be a normal guy. No girl would ever stop Steve in his tracks the way Bucky could with one of those devilish grins.

Bucky led the way into the dance hall. After Steve helped Mary Ann with her coat, she immediately stepped close and took his arm again.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer,” he began, already composing apologies in his head.

“Oh, I don’t dance.” Mary Ann sounded a little disapproving, as if Steve had suggested something shocking.

“You don’t? Well, that’s . . . that’s good, I guess.”

She beamed up at him and gave his arm a squeeze.

“How about I get us a couple of drinks?” Steve said. “We can sit and talk.”

“Just a Coca-Cola for me, please.”

Steve pulled out a chair for her and fetched two sodas from the bar. When he got back to the table, he was surprised to see, Bucky, rather than disappearing with his date into the crowd on the dance floor like he usually did, was sitting down with Mary Ann. Even after Dorothy dropped some pretty obvious hints about wanting to dance, Bucky only left his chair to fetch yet another round from the bar. Even after everyone else had enough, he got himself several more drinks, his voice growing louder with every fresh glass.

Bucky was usually a happy drunk, smiling and joking, but tonight there was a sullenness in his expression that Steve didn’t recognize. He was strangely aggressive too, leaning close to Dorothy, almost looming over her. She was smiling, though, and laughing quietly when Bucky whispered in her ear.

“Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, forcing his eyes back to Mary Ann. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Mary Ann’s expression made it clear that she was hurt by his lack of attention, and he felt like a heel. He was about to apologize when Dorothy sprang up from her seat, spun toward Bucky, and slapped him hard across the face.

They all stood frozen for a moment. Then Bucky let out a loud, vulgar laugh.

“Bucky!” Steve said sharply.

Bucky turned to Steve. He looked ashamed of himself, which was only right, but he also looked a little bit lost. Steve wanted to ask him what was wrong, but Mary Ann was on her feet now too, spitting mad, and Dorothy had tears in her eyes. Whatever Bucky’d said to her must have been awfully rude. Steve shouldn’t be feeling sorry for Bucky when he’d obviously acted like a jackass.

Mary Ann rounded the table and put her arm around Dorothy. “Come on, we’re going home.”

The girls started to walk away, but Steve caught up with them. “Please, let me walk you home.”

Dorothy looked at him scornfully.

“I’m sorry. Bucky’s not usually like this,” Steve said. “I don’t know what got into him.”

“Steve, I think it’s better if we just go.” Mary Ann was struggling to get her coat on as she spoke, and Steve reached out to help her.

“Please?” Steve said quietly. “I wouldn’t feel right about it if we didn’t see you home.”

Mary Ann looked at Dorothy, who shook her head vigorously. She obviously didn’t want anything else to do with Bucky, and Steve didn’t blame her, but Mary Ann turned back to Steve and nodded.

Steve rushed back to the table. Bucky hadn’t moved from his seat.

“Come on. Get up,” Steve said. He let every bit of his anger seep into his voice. “We’re walking the girls home, and you’re going to be polite. Keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just picked up his coat and followed Steve out the door.

Steve kept up with the girls, while Bucky lagged behind. Mary Ann was still frowning, but Dorothy’s tears had dried. She took brisk strides with her head held high. Her cheeks were mottled with an angry flush, but Steve thought she looked even more beautiful than she had when he first met her earlier that night.

Dorothy disappeared into the boarding house as soon as they got to the door, but Mary Ann at least gave Steve another chance to apologize before ducking inside.

Steve sighed as Bucky finally caught up and stood on the sidewalk with his shoulder brushing Steve’s.

“There go two of the most stuck-up dames I’ve ever met.”

“They were not stuck-up.”

“They hell they weren’t.” Bucky turned away from the girls’ building. “What a disaster. Didn’t even want us to walk them home,” Bucky grumbled.

“Well, what did you expect?” Steve said. “They were offended. I don’t even want to know what you said to Dorothy.”

Bucky frowned and walked a little faster. “Damn, it’s cold.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket to flip his collar up against the wind. “They _were_ stuck-up. She wouldn’t’ve let me touch her, even if I hadn’t gotten fresh.”

“Bucky, you can’t expect a nice girl to—”

“See that’s just it. I don’t _want_ a nice girl. I want—” Bucky cut off with a frustrated huff of breath just as the reached the bus stop. “You can’t tell me girls don’t want it too. Why can’t I ever find a dame that isn’t afraid to admit that she _likes_ it? That she _wants_ it? A girl who can’t _wait_ to suck my dick, who wants me to—”

“Bucky, stop!” Steve’s face was flaming hot. Bucky sometimes talked like that—he seemed to like embarrassing Steve. But lately it was getting harder and harder for Steve to hide how Bucky’s crude words made him feel. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, pushing his jacket down to cover his crotch. “You drank too much—you know you did. You acted a jerk to Dorothy. And you’re still acting like a jerk.”

Bucky turned and glared at him.

“Here comes the bus,” Steve said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

He boarded without looking back. Bucky stumbled a little on the steps, prompting the driver to make an unhappy, disapproving noise, then he pushed past Steve in the aisle to fall into a seat near the window. Steve sank onto the seat next to him.

After riding for several blocks in silence, Bucky nudged Steve with his elbow. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, I mean it,” Bucky insisted. “I could tell you actually liked her.”

Steve didn’t care if he never saw Mary Ann again, and he was tempted to say as much to Bucky. But he kept his mouth shut. He turned to Bucky, who sat with his head leaning against the bus window. His eyes were closed, so Steve could look as much as he wanted. He didn’t need to see Bucky’s eyes to picture their exact shade of blue. Steve’s gaze slid down Bucky’s cheek, which was already showing stubble. He always shaved carefully before a date, but his beard grew in fast and thick.

Finally, Steve let himself study Bucky’s mouth. He could fill a gallery with all the drawings he’d done of Bucky’s mouth. One side sliding up into a crooked grin. Lips parted as he breathed heavily in his sleep. Even the way he chewed the inside of his lip when he was concentrating.

When they get home, Bucky hung up his overcoat, then reached for Steve’s. “I really am sorry.”

“I already told you—it doesn’t matter.”

“But you liked her. You talked to her.”

“Yeah, but—”

Bucky put his arm around Steve’s shoulders and gave him a shake. Steve was torn between shoving him away and grabbing on for all he was worth. This happened all the time when Bucky’d had a few drinks—he got affectionate, and Steve loved it, but it always left him hungry for more.

“The one time I manage to fix you up with a girl you actually like, and I get a stuck-up broad with no sense of humor.”

“C’mon, Bucky, Dorothy was all right. Admit it. You’re just drunk.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bucky pulled Steve into a real hug. “I like you better’n any dame.”

Bucky’s breath was hot on Steve’s neck.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Bucky was swaying on his feet now and making Steve sway right along with him. “Bucky?”

Bucky nuzzled at the side of Steve’s head and whispered in his ear. “We don’t need ‘em, right?”

Then Bucky kissed him. It was a clumsy, drunken kiss, wet all over Steve’s mouth and chin, but it made Steve’s heart pound.

“Bucky—” Steve tried to pull away, but Bucky’s arms were tight around his waist.

“Sssssh,” Bucky said as he leaned in again.

Steve tilted his face up, his mouth meeting Bucky’s. It was stupid—Bucky was drunk. But it felt so good, Bucky’s mouth sliding over his, his tongue pushing between his lips. His hands all over Steve, yanking loose his tie and shoving off his jacket.

Bucky planted a trail of wet, sliding kisses down Steve’s neck, and Steve wanted to give in, just let Bucky do whatever he wanted, but when he began fumbling with Steve’s belt buckle, it was clear things had to stop.

“Buck, wait.” Steve tried to grab Bucky’s wrists. “You’re drunk. What are you—”

Bucky shushed him again, then shoved his hands out of the way and tore open his pants.

“Bucky—”

“Please.” That was all he said. He wasn’t begging, and he didn’t sound drunk now—just quiet and serious. His arms wrapped around Steve’s waist again, clinging tightly, and his face was pushed against Steve’s neck. “Please.”

Then he kissed Steve again, gently this time, and Steve knew he couldn’t fight it. He should stop Bucky, he knew, but he simply _couldn’t_.

Bucky snaked his hand inside Steve’s boxers, and Steve couldn’t breathe. Bucky’s fingers, groping clumsily, then warm on his dick.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said, stroking fast and hard. “C’mon, yeah.”

Steve was already close, Bucky’s fingers going slick on his skin, but Bucky pulled away. He shrugged off his jacket and tugged at the knot of his tie as he advanced on Steve, backing him into their tiny bedroom.

“Bucky—”

Bucky cut him off with a hard kiss. He had his tie off now and threw it over his shoulder. His shirt quickly followed—he didn’t even bother unbuttoning it all the way, just yanked it off over his head. He grabbed Steve’s head and kissed him again, but slowly this time, licking into his mouth before shoving him down to sit on his bed.

Bucky almost toppled over as he bent down for another kiss, and he fell to his knees. Steve wished he could see Bucky’s face—only a little bit of light came in through the doorway from the other room.

“Bucky—”

But whatever Steve had been about to say was lost when Bucky reached inside Steve’s pants, pulled his dick out, and leaned down to close his lips around it. All the fantasies in the world couldn’t have prepared Steve for the feeling of Bucky’s mouth. Hot and wet. His tongue everywhere at once. He had one hand clamped onto each of Steve’s thighs, which was the only thing keeping them from trembling.

“Bucky. . . . Bucky, I’m—oh, God.”

Bucky pulled away. Steve wanted to protest, but before he could manage it, Bucky was yanking off the rest of Steve’s clothes. Once Steve was naked, Bucky lifted the blankets and pushed him down onto the bed. Steve watched Bucky undress, in the dim light catching only glimpses of his bare chest, his knee as he balanced on one foot and lifted the other to tug off his pants. His dick was hard, bouncing as he straightened and stepped closer to the bed, then he was in the shadows with Steve.

Steve reached out, loving the feeling of Bucky’s skin, hot under his fingers. The solid curve of his shoulder. But Bucky wouldn’t let him linger, crawling over Steve and pressing him down, pushing between his legs. Bucky’s dick sliding against his made Steve moan, but after only a few moments, Bucky was pulling away again, cursing and pushing himself off the bed.

For a few terrible moments, Steve thought Bucky’d finally come to his senses, that he was putting a stop to it. Steve could hear him fumbling with the things on top of his dresser. Something fell with a sharp crack—it must have been the glass dish where Bucky dumped loose change from his pockets, because Steve then heard coins rolling across the floor. Then Bucky was back, his fingers cold and slick where they gripped Steve’s thigh.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve knew why Bucky’s fingers were slippery. He knew what men did together. And he’d thought about it—of course he had. But he’d never imagined this would happen: Bucky asking for it without really saying anything. Steve knew what Bucky was asking and knew just as clearly that he should say no. Bucky was drunk. He would regret this once he sobered up.

The silence swelled and filled the room until Steve couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned into Bucky, seeking out his mouth for a kiss, grateful that Bucky didn’t say anything else.

They tumbled back onto the mattress, Bucky already reaching between Steve’s legs, pushing inside him with one finger. Steve tried to relax, but it felt so strange. Bucky kissed him, then pulled his hand away abruptly.

“Bucky?”

He moved down to the foot of the bed, pushed Steve’s leg out of the way, and sucked his dick into his mouth. Steve was still gasping for air from the surprise of it when Bucky pushed back inside of him, with two fingers this time. Now it did feel good. Really good. Steve didn’t know which way to move so he stayed still, letting Bucky’s head bob over him and his fingers move inside him.

“Bucky, that’s—God, Buck, that’s good.”

Bucky made a sound, deep in his throat, a low, animal kind of sound, and he pushed in a third finger. It was tight, a little uncomfortable. Steve pushed away the edge of nervousness that was creeping into his brain and focused on the feeling of Bucky’s tongue gliding hot over the tip of his dick. But all too soon, Bucky hand was gone—he was crawling back up the bed and nudging his way between Steve’s knees.

“Steve?”

Steve could barely get enough air in his lungs to speak. “Yeah, Bucky.”

Bucky kissed him one more time before he was pushing inside. He felt huge. Steve was about to tell him to stop—it hurt too much—when Bucky said his name with a groan.

“God, Steve. Oh, you—” He pushed in just a little deeper, pressing his cheek against Steve’s neck. “God, you feel good. Please, Steve.”

Steve hooked his feet around the backs of Bucky’s knees. The pain was fading now. It was still uncomfortable—too hot, too tight—but it wasn’t as scary. And it would be hard to stop now, with Bucky moaning out his name like that.

Bucky pushed himself up with one arm so he could reach down between their bodies and grab Steve’s dick. It had gone soft, but as Bucky stroked him, he got hard again. The tight heat inside of him loosened and spread.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky whispered. “There you go.”

Bucky rocked his hips harder now and reached down to grab Steve’s leg and pull it higher, folding Steve almost in half to push up and kiss him, but the angle was good, Bucky’s dick pressed inside Steve in a way that made sparks light up behind his eyelids. Steve realized he was making noise and tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t help it: a soft moan was pushed out every time Bucky thrust into him.

Bucky’s movements grew less controlled. His hand was still on Steve’s dick, but it was trapped between their bodies, unable to move. “Steve.” Beneath Steve’s hands, Bucky’s shoulders were tense. “God, Steve.” His whole body froze, and Steve could feel movement inside, Bucky’s dick jerking as he came. Then, gasping out Steve’s name one last time, Bucky went limp, collapsing.

He took only a moment to catch his breath before propping himself up on his elbow, making room for his hand to move. He was getting smaller, but that just meant Steve could focus on the feeling of Bucky’s firm steady grasp on his dick. It only took a few strokes before Steve was coating Bucky’s fingers and splattering their bellies.

Bucky surprised Steve with a lingering kiss before pulling out carefully—Steve winced at the feeling—and falling onto the mattress next to Steve. He pulled the covers over them both and quickly fell asleep with one arm thrown around Steve’s waist, snoring lightly.

*****

When dawn came, it seemed both too soon and not soon enough. The night had dragged for Steve because he was too worked up to sleep much, but he dreaded Bucky waking up. It had been easy to rationalize everything when he’d been so desperate to come, but now he could only think about how drunk Bucky’d been. He’d have every right to be furious. What if he never forgave Steve?

When the alarm went off, Bucky stuck one arm out from under the covers. He knocked the clock off the nightstand, and it fell to the floor with a clunk, still jangling. With a groan, Bucky leaned over the edge of the bed and groped around until he found the clock. He turned it off with a scowl on his face, and for a minute Steve thought he was going to throw it across the room, but he set it gently in its place on the nightstand, then fell flat on his face on the pillow with another groan.

Steve tried to stay very still. It wasn’t like he could move away, even if he wanted to. He was pressed between the wall and Bucky’s warm, naked body.

Bucky wasn’t moving away either. Steve tried not to let himself be too happy about that. Bucky was slow to wake up in the morning. He probably hadn’t fully realized where he was yet.

He slowly pulled himself out of bed, until he was sitting up on the edge. Steve watched the muscles of his back moving as he stretched, letting his eyes travel where he couldn’t let his hands go—down over Bucky’s ribs and hip.

Then Bucky stood, and Steve could see him head to toe. The valley of his spine. The muscles in his ass and thighs. God, he was beautiful. He grabbed his robe from its hook by the door and headed down the hall for a shower.

Steve lay stock still in the bed, unsure of what to do next. He would almost think that he’d dreamed it all, but he knew he hadn’t slept enough to really dream. And Bucky had been there in his bed, naked. The sheets were still warm from his body. There on the floor were the scattered coins from the top of Bucky’s dresser, and the cracked glass dish. Steve’s belly was a sticky, flaky mess, and he was sore in places he’d never been sore before.

When Bucky came back, he went directly to the closet. He pulled on his work clothes, just as if everything was normal, except he didn’t talk to Steve, didn’t look at him, though that wasn’t so unusual for a day when Bucky was hung over. Was it possible he didn’t even remember? No, he hadn’t been that drunk. And even if he had forgotten, wouldn’t waking up naked in Steve’s bed be a clue?

Steve still didn’t move, listening to Bucky moving around noisily in the kitchen. He usually grabbed a quick breakfast and wrapped up a sandwich for his lunch. Steve tried to guess what he was doing from the sounds he was hearing, but he usually didn’t pay any attention to Bucky’s morning routine—he was always still asleep or getting ready to leave for the day himself.

Steve jumped when Bucky appeared in the doorway. He was holding a steaming mug. “Thought you might want coffee.”

As he handed over the cup, he finally met Steve’s eye. His expression was hard to read, but it didn’t seem like he was angry. If anything, Steve would have said he looked worried, though he forced a quick smile before he left the room. Maybe that was the best that Steve could hope for right now.

*****

Several times throughout the day, Steve found himself wishing he had actually been scheduled to work. If he were busy, he wouldn’t be able to keep turning things over and over in his mind, wondering how the hell he was supposed to act when Bucky walked in that door.

When five o’clock finally rolled around, he started dinner without giving it much thought, but as he peeled potatoes he started worrying: Steve already had himself half-convinced that Bucky was just using him because of how his date with Dorothy had ended. It made Steve feel that much more like a stand-in to be hurrying to have dinner waiting on the table for Bucky when he got home.

But he almost always made dinner, even on days when he worked, because he got home earlier, and Bucky did the dishes after. Wouldn’t it draw even more attention to the situation if Steve didn’t cook?

Bucky’s key in the door set Steve’s belly to quivering, but he greeted Steve with a smile and hung up his jacket and cleaned out his lunchbox, just like he always did.

“Slow day today,” Bucky said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, only three cars came in today. We ended up cleaning out the garage just to pass the time.”

Steve couldn’t think of anything to say about his own day, but Bucky didn’t ask. Dinner was quiet. Bucky turned on the radio while he was washing the dishes and left it on the rest of the evening. It was clear that Bucky wasn’t going to bring it up, and Steve wasn’t about to say anything. So Steve had to assume that they were just going to act like it’d never happened.

Steve pulled his sketchbook off the shelf and sat down at the kitchen table, though he didn’t accomplish much. He couldn’t seem to focus. He kept turning his head to look at Bucky every time he shifted on the couch or turned a page of the newspaper. Was Bucky really reading? Or just pretending to concentrate, like Steve?

When Bucky finally spoke, it startled Steve after so long with the radio as the only sound in the place.

“Guess I’ll hit the hay,” Bucky said. He folded the newspaper and set it on the table. He gave Steve a smile but didn’t quite meet his gaze.

Steve was still sitting there with his sketchbook when Bucky came back from the bathroom. He was tired too—he hadn’t slept much at all the night before—but he was antsy. If he got into bed, he’d probably just lie there, staring into the darkness. But he felt _more_ antsy without Bucky in the room. Even when they weren’t talking, Steve felt better when he could keep an eye on him, so he might as well get ready for bed himself.

After going down the hall to brush his teeth, Steve pulled on his pajamas. Bucky was in his bed with the covers pulled up around his ears. He seemed to be asleep already.

Steve tiptoed across the room and turned out the light, but before he got to his bed, he heard Bucky say his name, almost in a whisper.

“Yeah?” Steve whispered back. There was no answer, so Steve padded over to Bucky’s bed, his stomach all jumpy again. He felt Bucky’s hand touching his leg at first, then moving up to grab his arm. Steve stood there, unable to breathe, with Bucky’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, until Bucky gave the slightest tug. It was the easiest thing in the world to let Bucky pull him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Bucky sat up too. It was too dark to see his face, even though it was only a foot or so away from Steve’s.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Again, Bucky didn’t answer, but after a pause, his lips found Steve’s in the dark, barely touching until Steve grabbed Bucky’s head and sealed their mouths together more tightly. Bucky pulled Steve over to lie down next to him and started on the buttons of his pajamas. Steve tilted his face up for a kiss, and as their mouths met again, Bucky cradled Steve’s jaw in his palm.

It was nice, of course, but Bucky was touching him like he was breakable. Steve didn’t need that—he’d liked how pushy Bucky had been the night before. At the same time he couldn’t help but be hopeful about what the tenderness might hint at, though he didn’t let himself get distracted by thinking about it too closely.

Bucky had gotten Steve’s pajama top off and was tugging at the bottoms. Steve lifted his hips so that Bucky could yank them down and toss them away. Steve shivered a little, but it wasn’t from the cold—it felt wonderfully naughty to be naked while Bucky still had his pajamas on. Bucky ran his hand over Steve’s ribs, still exaggeratedly gentle. Steve lifted his head until he could kiss Bucky’s neck, then nipped with his teeth, surprising a yelp out of Bucky. He froze, scaring Steve for a minute, then chuckled.

“Okay,” Bucky whispered. “I get it.” He shoved at Steve’s hip, pushing him over onto his back, then threw himself down between Steve’s legs. Steve pushed up against his body, felt his dick straining at the front of the pajama pants. After a sloppy wet kiss, Bucky slid away toward the foot of the bed, pushing Steve’s legs wide apart and closing his lips around his dick.

Steve let out an embarrassing, incoherent noise, and Bucky laughed. The sound of it was garbled since he was still working Steve’s dick with his mouth. He was merciless, alternating between sucking hard until it almost hurt and then stroking roughly with his hand.

Steve tried to give a warning when he got close, gasping out Bucky’s name. He was afraid Bucky just didn’t hear him, so he tried again, saying his name louder. Bucky made an encouraging humming sound. Steve hoped it was permission—he didn’t think he could hold back even if he wanted to. He came hard, several waves crashing through him, and just as the feeling started to ebb, Bucky’s tongue coaxed yet another surge out of him.

Breathless, he sprawled on the bed. His hands were tangled in Bucky’s hair, though he didn’t remember grabbing at it. He tried to free his hands without pulling, but Bucky didn’t seem to notice. He was still holding Steve’s hips in both hands, kissing his belly.

Steve gave a gentle tug on the strands wrapped around his fingers. “C’mere.”

Bucky obeyed immediately, crawling up to hover over Steve on all fours. Steve pulled him down for a kiss, and Bucky started to lie down on top, but Steve pushed him over onto his back, eager to return the favor.

He settled between Bucky’s legs and, before he could make himself nervous by thinking too much, gamely took Bucky’s dick between his lips. Bucky immediately thrust up, pushing his dick into Steve’s throat and making him choke. He pulled off, coughing. Bucky sat bolt upright and put a steadying hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry! Geez, I’m really sorry.”

“Shut up,” Steve hissed. He wasn’t mad, but he didn’t want Bucky to start being overly careful again. “I’m fine.” He grabbed Bucky by the back of the neck, planted a hard kiss on his lips, then shoved him back flat on the bed.

Steve gave it another try, this time wrapping his hand around the base of Bucky’s dick so that he wouldn’t get choked. He tried sucking on the tip, which made Bucky moan, then licked around and around it like an ice cream cone, which felt a little silly but made Bucky’s hips levitate off the bed.

When Steve pulled off to catch his breath, his teeth scraped over Bucky’s skin. Bucky gasped in surprise, but his dick jerked up against Steve’s chin like it was eager to get back into his mouth.

“This okay?” Steve said. His voice came out gruff.

“God, yes,” Bucky breathed out. His hand nudged at the back of Steve’s head, and Steve didn’t wait for more encouragement. He swallowed Bucky down again eagerly and didn’t stop until Bucky was shaking underneath him.

*****

Bucky came back from his shower in his bathrobe, smelling of soap and the spicy warmth of his aftershave. From where he was lounging on his bed, Steve was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he threw his dirty clothes in the hamper and hung up the damp towel.

Steve longed to touch Bucky’s face. He imagined running his fingers over it, his skin warm and smooth and soft. As he stared, he noticed a bit of shaving soap just under Bucky’s jaw line.

“You missed a spot.”

Bucky was distracted, rooting through a dresser drawer. “Hm?”

“There’s, uh . . . soap.”

Bucky looked up, and Steve gestured vaguely at his own neck. “Right under your ear.”

Grabbing his towel of its hook, Bucky swiped at his jaw and neck, but the streak of white stubbornly remained.

“Here, let me.” Steve stumbled over his own feet as he crossed the room. After taking the towel, he carefully wiped away the soap, letting his fingers just barely graze the line of Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky stared down at him. Steve wanted so badly to touch him again, to kiss him. But he chickened out. This wasn’t how it worked between them, was it? Though they hadn’t talked about it, there seemed to be unwritten rules.

“There, got it.” Steve walked away. He dared to take a peek at Bucky a moment later. He looked thoughtful, not quite frowning. Was he disappointed that Steve didn’t try anything? Or relieved?

For five nights running Bucky had called Steve over, but other than saying Steve’s name (Steve couldn’t decide which he liked better: the way Bucky said his name before they’d started, whispery and tentative, or the way Bucky said it when he was seconds away from coming, breathy and desperate), he never talked much. As long as the lights were on, things were like they’d always been. If anything, Bucky was a little _less_ affectionate during the day—he didn’t throw his arm over Steve’s shoulder as they walked or bump their knees together under the dinner table.

Steve had felt desire all day long, like an itch under his skin, but he pushed the feeling away and left the room so he wouldn’t be tempted to watch Bucky get dressed. Bucky followed shortly after, wearing pajama pants that hung loose off his hips and an old undershirt, more gray than white now from being washed so many times. Steve knew just how soft it would feel under his hands.

Bucky stood in middle of the room. “I guess I’ll turn in.”

“Good night.”

Steve waited, but Bucky paused in the bedroom doorway. He seemed a little uncertain—Steve didn’t think he was imagining it, so he didn’t wait long before heading for the bedroom himself. As he pulled on his pajamas, he decided not to wait for Bucky to call him over. Once he was changed, he opened the top drawer of Bucky’s dresser and grabbed the jar of Vaseline. They hadn’t used it, not since the first night, but Steve had been thinking about it. A lot.

He crossed the room to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. The bare floorboards were chilly under his bare feet as he hesitated, then he went to the bed and climbed right up until he was straddling Bucky’s hips. Leaning down for a kiss, he groped around in the dark until he found Bucky’s hand and pressed the little jar into it. Bucky let out a surprised noise and wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him down and kissing him messily.

Bucky’s free hand slid down Steve’s back, then squeezed his ass. Steve could feel that Bucky was hard, even through the layers of blankets.

Bucky lifted his head to whisper in Steve’s ear. “Was I too rough? The first time?”

Steve shook his head and ground down against Bucky’s hips. As their mouths met again, Bucky fumbled with Steve’s buttons. Too impatient to wait, Steve jumped up, stripped off his pajamas, then pushed the covers away and pulled off Bucky’s too.

He scrambled back up on top, and right away Bucky was gripping his hip with slick fingers, reaching back and pushing inside. They traded clumsy, open-mouthed kisses as Bucky worked Steve open. It was different this time—maybe the angle, or just knowing how good it would get—but right away it made Steve’s breath catch in his throat and his heart race. He liked being able to move, shifting his body to get Bucky’s fingers where he wanted them, pressing down until he could feel Bucky’s dick poking between his legs, at his balls.

“God, Steve,” Bucky panted. “I can’t—”

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve whispered. “I’m ready.”

Bucky made a garbled sound and pulled his hand away. Steve lifted up just enough so that Bucky could get one hand around his dick and aim it in the right direction, then lowered himself down. It pushed a little grunt out of Steve before he could stop it, and Bucky’s fingers tightened on his hips.

“Steve?”

“I’m okay.” Steve pushed himself lower.

“Oh God.” Bucky’s voice came out sounding choked, and his hands were bruising vices on Steve’s skin. As Steve moved slowly, Bucky relaxed beneath him, letting him set the pace.

Bucky wrapped a hand around Steve’s dick—it hadn’t really gone soft like it had last time when Bucky pushed into him. The touch was almost too much. “Wait, don’t.”

Bucky froze.

“I just don’t wanna go off too quick,” Steve whispered.

His hand withdrew, but then Bucky was pushing Steve up and squirming out from under him. “Wait,” Steve said. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

“I just want to try something.”

Bucky spun him around and shoved him down on all fours. Steve cried out as Bucky pushed right back into him. He cringed—they were being too loud. 

“Ssssshhh,” Bucky hissed, but Steve could hear laughter in his voice, and he was already rocking his hips, slowly. Steve could feel every inch of his dick as it slid in and out of him, and he could push back to meet every thrust.

“Steve. God, Steve.”

Soon Bucky was holding on tight, each rough thrust pushing Steve’s knees a little further apart, driving his body closer to the mattress until he let himself fall flat. Bucky went right down with him, pressing Steve’s dick into the cool sheets, just enough friction to push him over the edge. He cried out again, and Bucky slapped a hand over his mouth. Then Bucky was laughing—Steve couldn’t shut up. He kept moaning, and Bucky kept fucking him, laughing breathlessly until he came too, his laughter giving way to hot panting gasps in Steve’s ear. 

*****

Steve approached Quinn’s Garage with butterflies in his stomach. He wasn’t sure how Bucky would react to being surprised at work. But the minute he saw Steve, he gave him a huge grin, and Steve let himself relax.

“What’re you doing here?”

“It’s almost five. I thought maybe we could go to a movie.”

Bucky’s smile faded. “Wish I could. I promised Mr. Quinn I’d stay till I finished with this Chevy. I don’t want to make you wait around.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, if you’re sure. . . .”

“I’m sure.”

Steve tried to act casual, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Here,” Bucky said, pulling up a stool. “If you’re gonna stay, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Steve handed Bucky tools when prompted and tried not be too obvious about admiring the way his jumpsuit pulled tight over his ass and thighs when he bent over the engine.

The owner of the garage walked by, his nose in a ledger, and Bucky asked him to come over.

“Mr. Quinn, this is my buddy, Steve Rogers.”

“Steve! Bucky talks about you all the time,” said Mr. Quinn. He stuck out his hand for Steve to shake. “It’s nice to put a face with the name.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Quinn.”

“You as handy as Bucky here? If you’re half as good under the hood as he is, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”

Steve couldn’t tell if Mr. Quinn was serious or just being friendly. Before he figured out how to respond, a beautiful girl walked in. She had huge dark eyes with long, thick lashes. Her thick chestnut hair hung past her shoulders in waves, setting off her flawless fair skin. 

“Evie, what are you doing here?” Mr. Quinn said. He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “You remember Bucky, don’t you? And this is his friend Steve. This is my daughter, Evelyn.”

She barely looked at Steve and Bucky, just giving them a cursory nod.

“Daddy, can I talk to you please? In your office?”

“Of course. Excuse us, boys.” Mr. Quinn and Evelyn turned away.

Steve was afraid to look at Bucky—he already knew what he’d see on his face. Steve knew Bucky’s type, and Evelyn was the kind of girl that could wrap him around her finger for a long time. Bucky’d mentioned seeing her before when she’d stopped by the garage to see her dad. She was a nice girl, and smart. The kind of girl you hold onto, if you’re lucky enough to get her attention. The kind of girl you marry. For all of Bucky’s drunken talk about wanting a fast girl, that wasn’t what he really looked for.

After steeling himself, Steve dared a look in Bucky’s direction. As he’d expected, Bucky’s eyes were fixed on the stocking seams running up the back of Evelyn’s calves. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. Steve waited for several long moments, but even after the office door had shut and she was no longer in sight, Bucky stood staring at the door as if hoping she’d reappear.

Steve knew he was being stupid—stupid and jealous and petty. But he didn’t want to hang around until Evelyn passed by on her way out. Even if she didn’t pay much attention, Bucky wouldn’t be able to help himself: he was a natural flirt. But that didn’t mean Steve had to stick around and witness it.

Steve cleared his throat, but Bucky still didn’t move.

“Looks like you’re going to be stuck here a while,” Steve said quietly. “I’m distracting you.”

“What?” Bucky seemed to shake himself out of his daydream. “Wait, no, don’t go.”

But Steve was already on his feet and walking toward the door.

“C’mon, Steve.”

Steve was half a block away when Bucky caught up to him.

“Don’t go. I’m almost finished. What about the movie?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind,” Steve lied. “We can try another night.”

“Steve—”

Just before Steve turned the corner, he glanced at Bucky’s face. He was clearly disappointed. It did seem like he genuinely wanted Steve to stay, but turning around now would make Steve feel even more stupid, so he kept walking, not stopping until he was home and slamming the door behind him.

Steve tried to distract himself from sulking by reading but must have fallen asleep on the couch. He woke up with Bucky gently taking the book from his hands.

“Bucky?”

“It’s late.” Bucky’s expression was uncertain. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay.” Steve rubbed his face and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. It took me longer than I thought to fix that damn Chevy.”

Steve smiled up at Bucky, who had a smear of black grime on the left side of his forehead. “Come here,” Steve said, reaching up.

“What?”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and yanked on it until he knelt on the floor at Steve’s feet, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubbed at the smudge. “You’ve got grease on your face.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll wash up later.” But he didn’t pull away from Steve’s hands or object to his fussing.

Steve could feel Bucky looking at him intently but kept his attention firmly fixed on his handkerchief long after the mark was gone.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, leaning close for a kiss.

His hands were already reaching for the button at Steve’s waistband. Steve went from sleepy to achingly hard in an instant. Bucky pushed Steve’s pants and boxers out of the way and bent down to take his dick in his mouth. Steve let out a moan, and Bucky’s hand tightened where it was clamped on Steve’s hip.

Steve watched Bucky’s face—his eyes were closed in concentration, his dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones. His lips were reddened and wet, sliding over Steve’s dick as he bobbed his head up and down, and it was too much. Steve had to look away if he didn’t want this to be over in seconds. But when he averted his eyes, he saw that Bucky’s arm was moving, his hand working his own dick inside his pants. He groaned, and the sound vibrated around Steve’s dick.

“Oh God.” Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from the movement of Bucky’s arm. Did he really get that riled up from doing this? “Bucky—” 

Bucky moaned again, and his hand went still. His body spasmed, and Steve realized he was coming, without Steve having laid a hand on him. When he pulled his hand out of his boxers, his fingers were slick and shining. He grabbed Steve’s hips hard with both hands. Steve tried to thrust up, but Bucky’s hands were pinning him to the couch. His mouth tightened, moving faster, and Steve managed to squeak out his name in warning only seconds before exploding into his mouth.

Bucky slumped over Steve’s lap, his head resting on Steve’s thigh. As he caught his breath, Steve carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky let out a sigh, and he didn’t move for a long time.

Finally, Bucky pulled away, holding his pants by a belt loop so that they wouldn’t fall down when he stood up. It wasn’t until he grabbed his bathrobe and a towel and disappeared down the hall toward the shower that Steve realized the lights had been on the entire time.

*****

The muscles of Bucky’s thighs were tense, almost trembling under Steve’s hands. Bucky was close—Steve could tell because his hips never touched the bed, just hovered as they rocked up and down, pushing into Steve’s mouth. Bucky did that when he was close to coming, Steve had learned. He’d also learned that Bucky liked it when Steve wrapped his hand around the base of his dick and lightly stroked while sucking hard on the head. He did exactly that, and Bucky let out a groan. Steve recognized that sound too—Bucky was really, really close now. The last few weeks had taught Steve a lot about what Bucky liked in bed.

Steve had also discovered a bit about himself. He’d been surprised to figure out that he liked to come first. Not because he was selfish, but because after he’d had a chance to catch his breath, he could focus more on what Bucky liked rather than just fumbling his way through in a fog of lust.

Bucky was panting hard now, and he moaned out Steve’s name. Steve’s dick gave a little twitch, but it was too soon for him to get hard again. Steve moved his hand away to cup Bucky’s balls while lowering his head, taking Bucky into his mouth as deep as he could. Bucky came hard, stifling the noises he made with his fist. Even after swallowing several times, Steve still had to swipe at his mouth with the back of his hand before he could crawl up the bed for a kiss. Bucky let out an exhausted sigh and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair before tugging him down and spooning up close behind him.

Bucky’s breathing slowed and quieted, and Steve was sure he was asleep when he suddenly shook himself and spoke: “Oh hey, Ma wanted me to make sure you’re coming for Thanksgiving.”

He said it in a normal tone of voice, except that he was sort of sleepy, and it took Steve by surprise. When they were together like this, Bucky was usually so quiet. And hearing Bucky talk about his mother so soon after having his dick in Steve’s mouth—it was awkward, so it took Steve a moment to answer

Bucky poked one finger into Steve’s belly to tickle him. “What, you got other plans?”

“No, of course not.” Steve answered. “Tell her thank you.”

*****

Bucky was late. At first, Steve didn’t think anything of it. Bucky didn’t always come straight home from work. Sometimes he went out for a beer with the other guys at the garage. Sometimes he’d stop at his folks’ house and have supper with them. But lately Bucky hadn’t been spending much time with friends from work, and when he went home it almost went without saying that Steve would meet him there.

Steve put Bucky’s dinner plate in the oven to keep warm and settled down on their threadbare couch with his sketchbook. He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t even impatient, until he remembered Evelyn. Maybe she’d stopped by around closing.

It was stupid to think about it. Mr. Quinn had been so surprised to see her at the garage that day, so she couldn’t visit very regularly. And she’d barely paid attention to Bucky when he’d said hello to her.

Almost against Steve’s will, his pencil began to trace the lines of Evelyn’s face onto the blank page on his lap: her perfect lips, the thick curls falling to her shoulders. His hand faltered when he tried to sketch the curve of her breasts—why was he torturing himself?

Suddenly he remembered Bucky’s supper and went to the oven to pull it out. It was ruined—dried out and hard. Steve scraped everything into the trash and left the dirty plate in the sink. He looked at the clock. It was a little after ten. That was late enough for bed, wasn’t it?

He took his time brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, but it wasn’t even ten thirty by the time he was climbing into bed. After trying to read for a while, he gave up and just stared at the ceiling, telling himself he had no right to be upset. He and Bucky had never kept tabs on each other, and just because they’d been . . . whatever they’d been doing, that didn’t mean that Bucky owed him any explanations about what he was doing, where he was going, or when he’d be home. Or who he was with.

When Bucky’s key finally rattled in the lock, Steve tucked his book onto the shelf above his bed and quickly turned out the light. Pretending to be asleep seemed like the way to go. He didn’t want to talk to Bucky when he was feeling stupidly anxious.

Bucky came into the room quietly. Steve kept perfectly still and listened to Bucky opening dresser drawers. Then he must have gone down the hall for a shower. He came back smelling of soap.

Steve still didn’t move, but Bucky surprised him by coming to sit carefully on the edge of his bed.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve answered, trying to sound like someone who’d just woken up.

Then Bucky was crowding into the bed, nudging Steve to one side. He let a lot of cold air in under the blankets, but Steve wasn’t about to complain, especially when he pressed close, tucking his knees up behind Steve’s and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Sorry to wake you,” he murmured into the back of Steve’s neck.

“Mmm. S’okay.” Steve, a regular Pavlov’s dog, started to get hard. He ignored it and concentrated on keeping his voice sleepy, his tone offhand. “You’re home late.”

“Dave and I were working on some rich guy’s Packard.” Bucky interrupted himself with a yawn. “He paid extra to get Mr. Quinn to promise we’d have it ready first thing tomorrow morning.” He wrapped himself around Steve even more tightly. “Took a lot longer than I thought, but he paid us time and a half.”

“That’s great, Buck.”

Bucky was already falling asleep, his deep breaths puffing out against Steve’s neck.

Steve’s heart was beating fast. Maybe partly because he was excited, but also because he couldn’t quite manage to put a damper on the hope that was welling up. Bucky had crawled into Steve’s bed when he was too tired to fool around—that had to mean something, didn’t it?

*****

Bucky groaned when the alarm rattled them awake the next morning, but he dragged himself out of bed. Steve longed to pull him back in, for Bucky’s sake cause he needed more rest, and selfishly too, because Steve could linger in bed all day if it meant having Bucky pressed up against him, warm and sleepy.

“Mm, chilly,” Bucky mumbled, pulling the covers up to Steve’s shoulder and giving it a pat. He stumbled over to grab his bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door. Yawning, he tied the belt, his fingers nimble though his steps were still clumsy as he crossed the room to leave Steve’s robe over the foot of the bed where Steve could reach it as soon as he got up. He told himself that the thoughtful gesture didn’t mean anything, because Bucky did nice things like that for him all the time.

Once he was dressed, Bucky hesitated by the door, then suddenly strode over and gave Steve a kiss. On his mouth, if only the very corner. Bucky’s eyes darted up to Steve’s, just for a split second, and he turned away lightning fast, but Steve caught a glimpse of his smile.

*****

The night before Thanksgiving, Bucky worked late again, crawling into bed around midnight and cuddling up close behind Steve.

“You can sleep in tomorrow,” Steve murmured.

“Mmm.” Bucky yawned against the back of Steve’s neck. “That’s good, cause I’m beat.”

Steve put his hand over Bucky’s where it rested on his stomach, and Bucky tangled their fingers together. He yawned again and was asleep within a few moments.

Steve woke on Thanksgiving day with Bucky still curled up behind him. He craned his neck, trying not to wake Bucky, until he could see the alarm clock. It was almost nine, but Mrs. Barnes had told them to arrive at one o’clock for dinner, so they had hours to spare. It was rare to have a day off where they could sleep as late as they wanted: Bucky worked most Saturday mornings, and mass started at eight on Sundays.

Bucky stirred slightly in his sleep and pressed closer to Steve. His morning erection poked at the back of Steve’s thigh. He should probably let Bucky sleep, but he could always take a nap later. Steve decided to take a chance.

He squirmed under the blankets, trying not to let in any cold air as he rolled over, then wriggled down until he could tug at Bucky’s pajamas and get his mouth around his dick. He woke up groaning and clutching at Steve’s hair. He took Bucky as deep as he could until he came with a choked off groan.

When he popped his head out from under the covers, Bucky laughed at the mess of his hair, and pulled him into a kiss. Steve pushed up against Bucky’s side, so riled up it only took a few thrusts against the lean muscle of his thigh before Steve was over the edge, clutching at Bucky’s ribs and soaking their pajamas before collapsing with his head on Bucky’s chest.

“That was a hell of a good morning,” Bucky said as he petted at Steve’s tangled hair.

Still catching his breath, Steve could only grunt in response.

“Let’s get out of these,” Bucky suggested, trying to pull his damp pajamas away from his skin.

Steve was too contentedly worn out to care about the state of his pajamas, but he let Bucky push and pull him until they were both naked and tucked comfortably back under the covers. Steve was on his stomach with his head rested on his folded arms, while Bucky lay on his side and ran his hand up and down Steve’s back.

Relaxed and sated, Steve was close to sleep when he noticed that Bucky’s hand was venturing lower and lower each time it traveled down his spine. He didn’t say anything until Bucky’s fingers were trailing down the crack of his ass and down between his legs. It tickled a little, but Steve tried not to squirm.

“What are you doing?”

There was no answer. Bucky’s hand slid up Steve’s back, tracing each of his shoulder blades before returning to his ass again, this time pressing more firmly.

“You ready to go again already?” Steve asked.

“I will be,” Bucky said, his breath hot in Steve’s ear, “by the time I’ve got you all ready.” He leaned over Steve, half squashing him as he fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand—they kept the Vaseline within easy reach now.

Steve spread his legs as much as he could in the narrow bed, closing his eyes as Bucky’s fingers slid inside. Steve’s hips rose up off the bed to meet Bucky’s hand like they had a mind of their own. Bucky took his time, moving slowly, twisting and scissoring his fingers, pausing now and then to kiss Steve’s mouth or lick his neck, until Steve felt like he was melting into the mattress.

“I’m ready,” Steve whispered.

Bucky continued like he hadn’t even heard.

Steve lifted his head. He was more than ready, and he could feel Bucky’s dick hard against his leg, so he knew Bucky was ready too. “C’mon, Buck, I’m ready.”

Bucky laughed quietly. “Stop being so bossy.”

Okay, so maybe Steve had sounded a little impatient, but the waiting was making him crazy.

Bucky smiled, slow and smug. “I know you’re ready. Now I’m doing it just for fun.”

But he didn’t make Steve wait much longer before flipping him over and hooking a hand behind each of Steve’s knees. Steve was so loose and slick that Bucky was all the way in with one push. Then Bucky fucked him slowly, slowly, until Steve was wrung out, boneless, too exhausted to move.

*****

Steve woke up with Bucky roughly shaking his shoulder.

“Come on, buddy. We’ve got about twenty minutes to get ourselves cleaned up and out the door.”

Steve groaned. He couldn’t possibly move, much less move quickly.

Bucky pulled the blankets off, and the chill air made Steve groan again. He tried to bury his head under the pillows, but Bucky pushed them off the edge of the bed and gave Steve’s ass a playful swat.

Steve dragged his body upright, then pushed himself off the bed to stand. His legs felt as wobbly as a newborn colt’s. Bucky was watching him, looking very pleased with himself. Steve wanted to tease him, but this thing between them still felt too fragile in the daylight, so he settled for a roll of the eyes and grabbed his bathrobe off its hook.

Steve took the fastest shower he’d ever taken in his life. He would never have managed to get ready so quickly if Bucky hadn’t been helping him along, pulling clothes out of the drawers for him and even tying his tie.

As they walked out the door, Steve’s head was spinning, and he still felt slickness in the crack of his ass—maybe he’d rushed through his shower a little too fast. All he wanted was to drag Bucky back to bed, to keep Bucky all to himself, but if they didn’t leave now, they’d be late.

Steve turned right when they got to the corner, but Bucky grabbed his arm. “Where’re you going?”

Steve turned back, confused.

“We’re going to my aunt’s. Not my folks’,” Bucky said, tugging him along. “My aunt and uncle just got a new place and wanted to have everyone over there.”

Steve had assumed Bucky’s parents were hosting—Mrs. Barnes always cooked Thanksgiving dinner. He wasn’t sure how he felt about tagging along to a holiday meal at the house of some relative of Bucky’s that he didn’t even know. “Which aunt?”

“Aunt Jeannie. My mother’s sister.”

Steve had at least met Mrs. Barnes’s sister and her husband several times. They were usually around for holiday dinners at the Barnes house. They had a bunch of little kids, all much younger than Steve and Bucky. With all the chaos they caused, Steve would hardly be noticed.

When they get to the house, they gave their coats to one of Bucky’s cousins, a boy whose job it was to take the guests coats upstairs and pile them on his parents’ bed. The living room was crowded and noisy, with the kids dodging through the groups of adults, and everyone talking at top volume. Mrs. Barnes saw Steve and Bucky and came over to kiss each of them on the cheek.

As Bucky talked to his mother, Steve looked around and across the room saw chestnut curls. He caught the barest glimpse of creamy perfect skin and dark eyes, and suddenly remembered that Evelyn’s dad and Bucky’s uncle Frank were brothers. Bucky had gotten his job through the family connection.

Evelyn turned, and a huge smile lit up her face when she saw Bucky. She made a beeline across the room to where Bucky and Steve were standing.

“Hi, Bucky.”

“Hi, Evelyn.”

She looked at Steve. “I’m sorry. I know my father introduced us, but I can’t remember your name.”

“Steve,” Bucky said before Steve had a chance to say anything. Evelyn probably didn’t pick up on it, but Steve knew Bucky well enough to hear the annoyance in his voice that she’d forgotten his name.

“Right,” Evelyn said. “Steve. Hi, Steve.”

Steve mumbled a hello, wishing he could sink into the floor.

“Daddy told me you’re applying for the manager job.”

Steve’s eyes darted to Bucky, who looked sheepish “Yeah, well, I’m thinking about it.”

“You should. Daddy likes you. I bet you’d get it.”

It suddenly occurred to Steve that Evelyn hadn’t paid any attention to Bucky when he was just a mechanic—did the prospect of a more responsible job make him more interesting? Or was it just the bigger paycheck? Maybe she wasn’t really interested in Bucky at all. It might just be that he was the only guy here who was close to her age, other than Steve himself.

After Evelyn drifted away with a smile and a flirty little wave, Steve turned to Bucky. “You didn’t mention were trying for a new job.”

Bucky shrugged. “I might not get it.”

“So? You still could have told me.”

Mrs. Barnes appeared at Bucky’s shoulder. “Can you help in the kitchen for a little bit?”

Steve tagged along and watched as Bucky helped his aunt by lifting the huge turkey out of the oven. She thanked him, and he grinned at her. “Glad to help. But you don’t want me to carve it unless everyone likes their turkey shredded.”

“No, Frank will carve at the table. Just leave the pan on the table there. We’ll move it to the platter after it sits a bit.”

A little boy charged into the kitchen and ran smack into Mrs. Barnes, who was stirring a pot on the stove. “Careful!” she snapped. “Good Lord, it’ll be a miracle if we get through the day without one of the children getting scalded to death.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around the boy and picked him up. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you out of the way.” He rounded up a few more of the other kids and herded them out into the tiny back yard. Steve tagged along, and Evelyn followed too. They stood on the porch steps while Bucky tossed a football around with the kids.

Steve peeked at Evelyn out of the corner of his eye. She had a small smile on her face as she watched Bucky. Steve tried to imagine how Bucky looked to her. It wasn’t all that hard—Bucky’d walked in the door looking dapper and polished, and he was even more handsome now, with his sleeves rolled up and his hair tousled from running around with the football. The little kids loved him. It made him look like perfect future-husband-and-father material, and Steve wished that he would cut it out.

The football slammed into the stairs at Steve’s feet, startling him. He looked up and Bucky smiled—he’d thrown it at the steps on purpose to get Steve’s attention. Steve bent to pick up the ball and threw it back awkwardly.

“Come on,” Bucky said, still grinning at Steve. “You can do better than that.”

Steve was saved from having to play by Bucky’s aunt opening the back door to call them all in to eat. Steve ended up halfway down the table between Mrs. Barnes and one of Bucky’s cousins, a little girl about nine years old with Bucky’s blue eyes and a dark braid down her back. Bucky was way down at the end, next to his aunt. Evelyn was right across the table from him.

After everyone was settled, Bucky’s uncle stood at the head of the table. “Molly’s teacher talked to the class about gratitude,” he explained. “And she was hoping we could all take a turn saying what we’re thankful for. Molly? Why don’t you start?”

The girl next to Steve ducked her head, embarrassed. Even as close as he was, Steve could barely hear her as she squeaked out something about being thankful for having a new house. When she was done talking, Steve lifted his head and realized that everyone was looking at him expectantly. He was next.

“Oh! Uh. . . .” Steve felt everyone’s eyes on him. “I’m thankful for being invited to such a nice family gathering.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it—of course everyone already knew that he had no family, but he didn’t need to go and remind them. It made them look at him with pity. But then Steve locked eyes with Bucky, who gave him a goofy grin, and the rest of them didn’t seem to matter.

When it was Bucky’s turn, his expression grew serious. He lifted his chin and gazed into space, like he was about to say something important or dramatic, but when he opened his mouth, he said, completely deadpan, “I’m thankful that it’s almost time to eat.” Everyone laughed, and Bucky’s aunt swatted at his hand. 

Everything from the dressing to the pumpkin pie was delicious—Bucky ate three slices. Steve was still pleasantly full and feeling sleepy when they walked slowly home. Bucky came close and put his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve liked it, of course, but it made him realize how long it had been since Bucky’d done that—not since they started . . . whatever it was they were doing. It had been weeks.

Steve pictured Evelyn. The way she smiled at Bucky throughout the day. And he realized that Bucky hadn’t really smiled back. It made him brave enough to push the issue.

“Evelyn sure was glad to see you.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. They just kept on walking, but Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes on him. He wished he hadn’t said anything. He should be grateful for what Bucky gave him, which was a lot. And he was grateful, but he’d be even _more_ grateful if he had just the tiniest idea of what Bucky was thinking.

Bucky gave Steve’s shoulders a squeeze. “You don’t really think you have to worry about her, do you?”

Steve tried to shrug, but with the weight of Bucky’s arm, his shoulders didn’t really move much. He was so stupid—why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?

“Do you know why I made that dumb joke earlier?”

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Bucky’d made dozens of jokes all day long, half of them stupid, so which one did he mean?

“Come on, at dinner?” Bucky said. He turned so that they were face to face. “It’s because I couldn’t say what I’m really thankful for, not in front of everybody.”

Steve shook his head. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going, but he wanted to hear it. Maybe he _needed_ to hear it. Otherwise he might never really believe it.

“It’s _you_ , you stupid punk,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. Then his voice went soft. “I told you I like you better than any girl. Don’t you remember?”

Steve remembered—of course he did. But Bucky had been drunk. How was Steve supposed to know that the words had revealed Bucky’s heart?

“I like you better than anyone. I—” Bucky ran one hand through his hair. “You’re not really going to make me say it, are you?”

Steve smiled. “No,” he said, and he meant it. Maybe he didn’t need to hear it after all.

But late that night, when they were curled up warm under the covers, still panting and sweaty and sticky, Bucky said it anyway. And Steve felt more thankful for those three little words than he’d ever felt for anything in his whole life.

The End


End file.
